


Love Stories

by Minnow_53



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25354390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minnow_53/pseuds/Minnow_53
Summary: Remus is suffering from unrequited love; but this is a get-together fic.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 29





	Love Stories

**Author's Note:**

> First published on LiveJournal 26/4/05. Thanks to Asterie for the beta.  
> 

**Watching Me Watching You**

It’s the final of the annual Gryffindor Staring Competition. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are battling it out, eyeball to eyeball, in the common room, with the rest of the house crammed in there watching them. 

Remus isn’t only concentrating fiercely on the competition. He also really likes to sit at the table across from Sirius and look and look at him. He is taking in every detail of Sirius while staring fixedly into his eyes: grey eyes, fathomless. He wants to be able to read them. He so wants to decipher Sirius, and to sit and stare at him like this is the nearest thing to heaven he can imagine.

Beautiful, a beautiful boy. You shouldn’t call boys beautiful, he knows that. You shouldn’t see boys as beautiful, he knows that too. You shouldn’t sit there aching with desire that should be alien, yet feels so right.

His hair. Black and silky, a lock falling down into his eyes: Remus could gaze at Sirius’s hair forever, stay here forever just drinking in every nuance of him, except that this is a contest, and he doesn’t want to lose it. He scowls at Sirius, aiming to psyche him out, the way he has been taught. 

James and Peter are the referees, as they’re impartial. Remus supposes that James would really prefer Sirius to win, but he probably isn’t that bothered.

Sirius blinks, and James shouts, ‘Hey, Black, you’re out.’ The common room erupts in cheers, and James says, ‘Lupin, you can stop staring now! You’ve won.’

Sirius blinks again, three times, rapidly, stretches his hand across the table. ‘Cheers, Moony. Well done.’

The touch of his hand, warm yet dry, soft. A beautiful hand, even with the bitten nails, and just to touch Sirius sets off sparks and flames through his whole body. 

Shouldn’t think of other boys and bodies in the same breath. Shouldn’t think, shouldn’t look.

He smiles at Sirius. He doesn’t care that a couple of the girls seem to be catching on. He doesn’t care that his smile is probably filled with all the desperate, yearning love he’s felt for so long. The yearning, unrequited love. 

Sirius smiles back, in that intimate way he has, as if you’re the only person he really cares about in the whole world. He smiles like that at everyone: at James, at Peter, at Professor McGonagall, even at Lily Evans, though the Marauders have sworn solemnly that none of them will be more than cool to Evans until she stops tormenting James.

Somebody’s handing out bottles of Butterbeer. As the winner, Remus is expected to shake his violently before opening it, so the contents spurt and fizz all over his cheering friends. A few of the Muggle-borns produce packets of crisps, a delicacy highly prized among pureblood wizards and witches. After that, the party can begin, and it lasts until well past midnight. It’s a Friday, though, so nobody is too bothered.

Remus takes a break from the friendly thumps on the back and congratulations to stand for a moment by the window, which is slightly open to let in the night air. Sirius comes and stands next to him, too close for comfort, so Remus struggles to breathe. It’s the third time he’s beaten Sirius in the Staring Competition, and Sirius says, ‘Really, Moony. You need to coach me in this. I’m going to beat you next time, mate.’ He laughs at the thought of his rival teaching him how to win. Remus says, ‘Fine, I’ll coach you,’ and laughs too, because he’s a bit drunk, and they have this conversation every year.

**Rain**

The dreaded Sunday walk takes place without fail, rain or shine. ‘Use your basic Charms skills to keep yourself dry!’ the cheerful professor leading the walk always says.

The Fifth Years aren’t excused, OWLs or no OWLs. Why a bunch of fifteen and sixteen year-olds still need to be herded outside for exercise every week, nobody can fathom. Peter has insisted on walking with James today, because it’s raining, and Peter’s Charm skills don’t improve - possibly the stress of the recently completed Animagus work - so Remus and Sirius walk together under the dripping trees. Remus forgets his own Charms skills, forgets everything but the boy walking beside him, and the rain drips on to his hair, and his cloak is soaked through, but he doesn’t even care.

Sirius is still excited about becoming a big black dog once a month, and is babbling away to Remus about how worried he was he might be a tortoise. ‘I don’t know why I thought of a tortoise, Moony! Perhaps because we’re always using them in Transfiguration. I just imagined ending up with McGonagall poking me with her wand and telling me to turn into soup-plate, like the other week. Just think how slow I’d be, trying to keep up with you.’

He lets the beloved voice drench him like the rain, taking in the words and cherishing every one, watching Sirius’s lips moving, so full, so lovely. He would like to touch them, lay his finger on them as if to hush Sirius, though he could listen to him talk forever. So soft, so beautiful, though Sirius isn’t soft: he’s hard angles, and he can be cruel. The dog can bite. 

Remus dreams of kissing that mouth. Not ravishing it, not hurting or biting or lusting. Kissing, just very, very gently, like a kiss in a dream, barely touching those lips. Just one kiss, one touch, and he would die happy.

‘Moony, you’re soaked! Here, let me put an Impervius charm on you.’ Sirius waves his wand, and the rain falls off Remus’s cloak in a stream. It’s a bit late, unfortunately, but he appreciates the thought, appreciates Sirius' anxious expression, but of course Sirius shows concern for everyone. He’s running ahead now, anyway, going to say something to James.

‘…look on his face!’ Sirius is chortling, when Remus catches up. He hopes Sirius isn’t talking about him, hasn’t noticed the way he can’t stop watching him, though he thinks, he hopes, Sirius wouldn’t see that as anything out of the ordinary. After all, why would Sirius even imagine that one of his best friends might be in love with him? It sounds crazy, not to say perverted, and Sirius would be freaked out.

‘Hi! I was just telling Prongs about Snivellus in Potions on Friday. When you passed him the shrivelfig.’

Remus is relieved. Well, of course Sirius wouldn’t snigger about him behind his back. He almost, instinctively, reaches out to take Sirius’s hand, but pulls back in time. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he’s thinking of half the time. 

Sirius hangs back again to walk with Remus. ‘God, this is awful, isn’t it? I wouldn’t mind if we could go through Hogsmeade. But the bloody grounds…’

‘Everything’s closed in Hogsmeade on a Sunday anyway,’ Remus points out. ‘And we did once come across that animal graveyard.’

‘Yeah, that was interesting.’ Sirius grins at Remus, his eyes sparkling. ‘Shall we sneak off? See if we can find it again? I think it was through the woods over there.’

Remus would love to, but Professor Mardi, leading the walk, is now standing and counting the students in the line as they go past: sneaking away is a well-known trick.

‘Better not,’ Remus says.

He thinks Sirius looks quite disappointed. Correction: he likes to think that Sirius looks quite disappointed. 

**Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw**

He’s sitting in the stands with Peter, who is wrapped in three Gryffindor scarves, his own, James’s and Sirius’s, though it’s one of the first warm days of the year. Peter's face is red and he’s sweating, and pretending he’s quite all right, and doesn’t mind feeling as if he’s being baked in a slow oven.

Remus stopped paying attention some time ago. He’s not watching the game, not properly, though he enjoys Quidditch. He can’t remember when he last followed the Gryffindor games; now, he sees only one player, his eyes glued irresistibly to Sirius.

Sirius is a Chaser. He’s not the best Gryffindor has ever had; he tends to try and score a bit too soon, not always calculating successfully. But he’s excellent at creating goal opportunities, with his boundless energy, swooping round on his broom with his black hair flying behind him.

He’s not been great in this match. For some reason, he doesn’t play well against Ravenclaw, maybe because their Keeper is the most intelligent player in the school, and has memorised every possible move each individual Chaser might use to score. 

Remus can see Sirius getting frustrated, as the Quaffle eludes him time after time; so frustrated that eventually he makes one of his impulsive swoops towards it, is promptly hit by a Bludger and falls with his broom, in a tangle, to the pitch beneath.

He doesn’t think, doesn’t remember anything but kneeling at Sirius’s side, crying out his name, trying to breathe a heartbeat back through his mouth; massaging his wrists, the way his mother used to do to him the mornings after a really bad transformation, when he couldn’t sit up without the room spinning around him.

People are staring at him, and Sirius too is looking up him blankly, not unconscious after all, and Madam Pomfrey is gently pushing him aside. It's almost a prank, he thinks, suddenly too numb with misery to move, or even raise his head. Sirius is getting up, brushing his Quidditch robes, miraculously unhurt, turning not to Remus but to James, who is standing a way away, leaning on his broomstick, nonchalant if a bit pale all the same.

‘Hey, Prongs, did you see that?’ Sirius grins and gives James the thumbs-up, to reassure him everything’s just fine. James laughs, a little shakily, and goes up and thumps Sirius heartily on the back. 

In the turmoil, the Ravenclaw Seeker has quietly caught the Snitch, and the game is over, with Ravenclaw winning by a mile.

Remus leaves the pitch, head down, not once looking up as he makes his way to the library to hide in the History of Magic section with the shadows and the lamp that never lights properly. Usually, he’s annoyed beyond measure when it flickers, but today he doesn’t even notice.

He stares at the books without seeing them, and wonders if he really heard Lily Evans mutter something like ‘Told you he was hung up on Black!’ He broke into a run before he could hear more. He doesn’t want to face Sirius or his friends ever again.

Oh, he will, of course. He’ll go up to the dorm much later, when the others are asleep, and creep into bed where he will lie until morning, dozing occasionally only to be jerked awake by the memory of revealing his secret crush to the whole school. It’s too much to hope that nobody noticed, except perhaps those damn girls, who seem to see everything and gossip about it afterwards.

Next morning, his friends don’t say a word. It’s as if it never even happened. Sirius looks at him strangely – he isn’t imagining that. He knows every expression of Sirius’s, every pout, smirk, grin, frown. He knows when Sirius is happy, sad, sick, well, depressed, manic. Today, Sirius is brisk and superficial, the way he is after a letter from home. He doesn’t call Remus ‘Moony’ again for a full twenty-four hours. Remus is desolate, but there is nothing he can do. How can you make somebody love you? Especially if you’re a boy and so is he. There are no spells or potions in the whole of the wizarding world that can change the human heart. 

**Love Letter, Sent**

It’s not enough that he’s already done some pretty hair-raising stuff in his life. Being bitten by a werewolf, for a start; practically _snogging_ Sirius on the Quidditch pitch; and now, just because he feels he might as well screw things up completely, he has to go and do this. He really doesn’t understand the compulsion to try and explain himself, because of course he can only make things worse. 

_Dear Sirius_

_I am so going to regret this, but you have to know: I really, really like you. Not just as a friend. You probably guessed that after the Quidditch thing, anyway. I’m going to leave this under your pillow. Please Incendio it, and you don’t need to talk to me about it. I’d rather you didn’t, in fact._

He doesn’t know if Sirius even got the letter. He doesn’t want to, either, not really. But he sometimes wishes he hadn’t told Sirius not to mention it. He even wonders if Sirius actually knew who wrote it, because he forgot to sign it.

Well, what did he hope for anyway? That Sirius would find the letter after lights-out, creep over to his bed and they’d spend the night making wild, fantastic love together? 

For a few days, he glances over at Sirius constantly, watching for a sign. But Sirius treats him just the same as usual: at least he isn’t aloof, like he was just after the Quidditch thing. 

**Love Is A Curable Disease**

‘You must be wondering why I wanted to see you, Mr Lupin,’ Professor McGonagall says.

He _is_ wondering, because he doesn’t have a clue. If someone had died, he’d be sent to the Headmaster. But it can’t be good, can it? He looks past her, sitting at her imposing mahogany desk, and out of the window behind her. She sits with her back to a view of the lawns and the lake, the grass emerald green, with all the rain they’ve been having. It’s a misty morning, just after breakfast, and Remus wishes he hadn’t eaten those extra rashers of bacon. He’s worried he might throw up over the immaculate cream-coloured carpet.

The light is dim and amber, and softens McGonagall’s angular features. Her voice is gentle too.

‘Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, Mr Lupin. But the staff and I have noticed that you seem to have a bit of a crush on one of your classmates. Now, it is perfectly natural to admire our peers. And Mr Black has plenty of admirable traits, I know. But you’re what? Sixteen last week. Perhaps a bit old to have feelings like that for other boys.’

Remus wants to tell her indignantly that she’s got it all wrong. He wants to produce a pretty girl on his arm, and thumb his nose at McGonagall: if only, if only he had the magic to do just that. He wants to scream and howl, and rip her face into tiny, bloody shreds.

He sits politely, not speaking, not moving. In control, not blinking even: the staring contests have a few benefits.

‘Now, I may be wrong. Still, your behaviour at the Quidditch match last week… And many of the professors have reported that your marks are going down, and you seem to spend a lot of time looking at Mr Black.’

‘ _They_ must spend a lot of time looking at _me_ , then,’ Remus wants to say. He nods instead. He can’t trust his voice at that moment.

‘I do realise this is a personal matter, Mr Lupin. But I’ve sent your parents an owl about it, and they agree you should see a Healer at St. Mungo’s for a while. To help you get over this rather unhealthy obsession.’

‘Did Sirius say anything?’ Remus blurts out. It’s the last, the very last thing he wants to say, and he says it the way Sirius would, on an impulse he doesn’t even recognise before he’s acted on it. Just the thought that Sirius might have complained, have told McGonagall about That Letter, or mentioned that Remus is stalking him or bothering him, or that he might make Sirius uncomfortable… Those thoughts claw at his heart the way the wolf claws at his flesh, so totally unbearable that they have to be voiced, even if he has now embarrassed himself to the extent of wanting to hide away in a dark corner forever.

McGonagall looks shocked. ‘No, Mr Lupin. I very much hope he hasn’t even noticed!’ 

Remus could tell her that there’s more to notice than she’ll ever guess. He thinks of how he couldn’t help, just couldn’t help clutching at Sirius’s sleeve in Potions the other day, pretending, when Sirius looked at him questioningly, that he was trying to get his attention to tell him his cauldron was boiling over. The times he’s angled it so he’s next to Sirius, or, in classes where the Marauders are separated, that he’s sitting somewhere with a ringside view of him. 

‘In your rather special circumstances’ – McGonagall hesitates ‘ – we do feel the need to keep a careful eye on you, Mr Lupin. For your own good. Now, we’ve had a couple of other boys with similar problems, and they’ve all been absolutely cured after a few sessions with Healer Murgatroyd. I’m not breaking any confidences, I think, if I tell you that one of those boys now has a lovely wife and two children. The other has a girlfriend, and would laugh at you if you ever reminded him of the silliness in his past.’

She’s trying to keep her tone light, Remus knows; to reduce love to something that can be redirected, like a piece of Owl Post delivered to the wrong address.

She dismisses him in a very kind voice, telling him that Madam Pomfrey will let him know when his appointments are sorted out.

He has no idea where he can hide, so he doesn’t. He goes to lessons, and makes an enormous effort not to look at Sirius, especially in Transfiguration. He didn’t know it could be so difficult. He can sense Sirius, anyway, wherever he is, like a tiny point of light moving across his consciousness. And when Sirius says, ‘Hey, Moony, be my partner,’ in Divination, Remus remembers he’s a Gryffindor and not a stupid girl, and says ‘Yeah, okay,’ as nonchalantly as he can. 

He even manages to smile at Sirius’s jokes about crystal balls, though he’s heard them a million times before and they are _not_ funny. 

**Love Letter, Unsent**

The build-up to OWLs, and in the suddenly fiercely hot summer, Remus sits outside on the lawn, with his back against a tree, quill in hand, scribbling. He keeps one arm hooked protectively round his parchment.

‘Hey, Moony, secret revision notes?’ James teases. ‘Padfoot, he knows something about Ancient Runes that we don’t!’

Sirius clutches his side, pretends to fall down dead in horror and shock. Remus memorises him as he slips gracefully to the ground, making unconvincing choking noises. His eyes sparkle with fun and mischief, but they are clear, completely clear of any telltale emotion.

Remus dips his head and writes.

_Dear Sirius_

_I wish I could tell the rest of you about it. Especially you. I’m saying it all in my head, but it’s hard to keep it there without my brain bursting, so I’ll write it down instead._

_Those past four Tuesdays after school when I’ve disappeared, and you accused me of doing extra OWLs work and Prongs teased me, like he did just now, and you said I had a secret girlfriend, and Peter sniggered and said ‘Like hell,’ and I could have killed him. Well, I’ve been seeing a Healer who is meant to cure me of being sick and wrong. (Not quite her words, but you can see her thinking them, or worse.)_

_Her name is Healer Murgatroyd and I hate her._

_Her office is blue and green, like being underwater. She has a fishtank full of magical blue and green fish that move to and fro, to and fro... It’s disconcerting. She told me it was to keep her clients calm, because the sight of fish swimming is soothing._

_There’s a picture of a big seashell on her wall. It doesn’t DO anything. It’s boring. I don’t see the point of a picture that just sits there, do you? I’ve stared at that picture for fifty minutes every week for a whole month, between Flooing to her office and Flooing back to the Hospital Wing again._

_I knew I hated her the second she started to ask if I had fantasies about you, and whether they were sexual fantasies, and what I imagined us doing. I tell her I have filthy fantasies about you, just because I want to piss her off. But I’ve refused to let her know what they are, which makes her mad._

_Words she uses: masturbation (at least once every three sentences), sex, sexual, homosexual, deviant, penis, orgasm… You get the picture. The woman has a filthy mind._

_She has nothing to do with us; her words have nothing to do with us. I keep you in a separate compartment. If I tell her about anything, it’s about a person who doesn’t exist. A person to whom I do endless perverted (her word) things, without much feeling behind them. While you, my own Padfoot, are hiding in the back of my mind, grinning and sticking your tongue out at her._

_Every time I Floo back, Pomfrey’s very kind to me and gives me a cup of tea and a biscuit. She makes me feel that I’m sick in the head. Not just a werewolf; a deviant werewolf. But that’s a bit paranoid of me, really, because I don’t think she actually knows what it’s all about. I hope not._

_I’m so tired of it, though. I don’t want to play their games, Padfoot. I don’t want to be cured of loving you, even if would hurt so much less. I don’t want to lose hope that someday you will turn round and realise I’m the love of your life. How could you, really? Well, that’s why they sent me to St. Mungo’s in the first place._

_Anyway, next session I plan to tell Murgatroyd I don’t even like you, and have a girlfriend now. As of Tuesday, I officially won’t have a crush on you anymore. So long, Sirius. It was good. I love you, by the way._

Sirius has crept up behind him, is trying to read over his shoulder. 

‘Sirius Black, sod off! I’m writing in invisible ink, you moron! And don’t dare tickle me…ow!’

He worries sometimes that Sirius might manage to get hold of one of the many unsent letters – fifteen so far - scrunched up and hidden in the bottom of his trunk. He always means to Incendio them, but somehow he can’t bear to. He thinks that he’ll take them out one day when he’s married and normal and settled, like Healer Murgatroyd’s other patients, and laugh at his younger self with his stupid hopes and dreams. 

**While You Were Out**

They’ve got all their homework finished, even Peter. OWLs are over, and they are now allowed some slack until the end of term, not too far away. The moon is just approaching the end of its second quarter, and it’s a quiet Wednesday night, the same as any other Wednesday. Dinner was sausages, mash and treacle tart.

Sirius has a date: he’s the first of them to go out with a girl, and he’s just getting dressed. He’s borrowed James’s jeans and Remus’s shirt and Peter’s waistcoat, and the boots are his own. Earlier, Peter got a bit confused as to why Sirius couldn’t wear his school robes, and the other three rolled their eyes and groaned.

Remus thinks he looks so good that it’s all he can do not to reach out his hand and stroke that newly washed black hair that isn’t lying quite as elegantly as usual, because it’s full of static: wizards don’t have electricity, but even their clean hair can crackle and spark.

His heart is full of helpless love and jealousy and pain. How ridiculous, even to think about Sirius, who was made to be with a beautiful girl, to stand beside her with his arm round her, grinning, nuzzling her hair perhaps… He curls into himself at the thought.

Sirius has been kind; unbearably kind. He told Remus about the date before he even told James, drawing him aside after Herbology and walking with him back to the castle.

‘I hope you don’t mind, Moony,’ he said, looking embarrassed, which was unprecedented for Sirius.

Remus kept his voice light. He managed to slap Sirius on the back, the way James would, and say ‘Good for you, mate.’

Sirius caught Remus’s hand and held it in both of his for a minute. ‘Moony. Don’t pretend, please. It’s okay. Really. I mean, I’m not angry or anything. It doesn’t make any difference. But you’re my friend and I didn’t want to act like it wouldn’t be a big deal to you.’

Oh, damn, Remus thought, arrogant, tactless Sirius Black, who could turn round and be so sensitive that you wanted to punch him. Sirius, who was still holding on to his hand, and the feeling was like burning and like freezing, both at the same time.

He shakes off the memory like he shook off the hand, and concentrates on Sirius preening in the middle of the dorm. Sirius comes and sits down next to him on the bed, says, ‘It’s not that exciting, guys. We’re just going to go to the library and – ’

‘Snog,’ James cuts in, and Peter giggles.

‘ – look up a couple of hexes that might be useful against Slytherins.’

Remus wonders if James is jealous that Sirius is discussing pranks with someone else. Possibly. He has a vision of James and him comforting each other, which makes him want to laugh hysterically. He can just imagine Murgatroyd leaning forward earnestly in her chair and asking, in that slightly foreign accent, ‘So you also want to sleep with your other best friend?’ No doubt she would start using words like ‘threesome’ then. He’s glad he’s cured now, anyway, and no longer has to endure her endless speculations about his sex-life, or lack therof.

Of course, that leads him to wonder about Sirius’s sex-life. He doesn’t like to do that for many reasons, not least of which is that he feels true love should rise above such earthy considerations. But then, he is a sixteen year-boy, and has what Murgatroyd calls ‘urges’, especially towards the object of his affections.

He wonders if Sirius and the girl – he simply can’t remember her name for more than two minutes – actually will snog. He starts humming tunelessly to himself to blot out the images this evokes. James tells him to shut up, so he does.

The couple of hours Sirius is gone seem like an eternity. The boys go down to the common room, where James and Peter play chess and Remus tries to finish an essay due the day after the next moon. He has plenty of time to get it done, but he wants to start it tonight, to stop him imagining Sirius and that girl locked together in a tight embrace. 

Though virtually every Gryffindor is in the common room tonight, it feels empty without Sirius. Though James is talking very loudly to Peter, so that Lily Evans, studying for a Charms test at the other end of the room, will hear and notice him, Remus thinks it’s too quiet without Sirius’s laugh. Or even Sirius’s silence, for that matter. 

When he finally comes back through the portrait-hole just before bedtime, Remus resolutely doesn’t even look up, doesn’t even glance at Sirius till he hears him thumping down on the sofa next to James, and risks a peek.

He looks exactly the same: he isn’t flushed or dishevelled, and he isn’t smirking or giggling.

‘So, how’d it go?’ James asks.

‘It was okay,’ Sirius says. ‘I thought she’d have more ideas about hexes. Somebody said Ravenclaws were meant to be imaginative, but I dunno. Nothing really useful.’

He then goes over to the table where Remus is sitting and ruffles his hair. ‘Hey, Moony. You’re not actually doing that Astronomy essay, are you? It’s not due for ages.’

‘Moon,’ Remus says.

Sirius does smirk then. ‘You idiot! The moon’s not for two weeks! What a waste of an evening. Almost as bad as mine, really. Come on, let’s get upstairs before the bell goes and we’re in trouble again.’

And then, just as Remus is relaxing, can actually feel the tension drain from his bones, Sirius adds casually, ‘I’m taking her to Hogsmeade on Saturday. To Zonko’s. She says she can show me some tricks that’ll be useful.’ 

**Morning After**

The Infirmary is like a furnace: the Cooling Charm has failed, and a wizard in dungarees is poking at the pipes in the cooling duct with his wand, trying to restore it. ‘Looks like a blockage, ma’am,’ he informs Madam Pomfrey, who is waiting anxiously for his verdict. ‘Have you been putting any other spells on this?’

‘I think one of the nurses put on a Silencing Spell, because it was rattling a bit.’

‘Ah, well, that’s it, then,’ the wizard in dungarees pronounces. ‘Happens every time. You mix two spells, the first one cuts out.’

‘It’s still rattling too,’ Madam Pomfrey says.

‘It would.’ The wizard pokes at it with his wand again and it rattles more loudly than ever.

Remus is lying on top of the bedclothes, wearing only pyjama trousers and a lot of bandages. His face is smeared with anti-scar lotion, and his hair is sticking up all over the place. He’s sweating profusely, in spite of the open windows: in fact, they seem to be letting in even more heat. He’s uncomfortable and in pain; he can’t fathom why last night was so bad, especially as it was a short, summer night and all his friends were with him. He does know that this morning Sirius rushed off with the others, instead of hanging round to check he’s okay, as he usually does.

The door creaks open, and Pomfrey cries out, exasperated, ‘What is it now?’ She’s cranky in the heat; her face is red and shiny. 

‘I’ve come to see Lupin.’

Pomfrey rather ungraciously waves Sirius toward the bed by the window. ‘Just a few minutes. If you can bear the heat in here. He had a bad night, and I was hoping he’d catch up on his sleep. No chance of that till we get the Cooling Charm blockage sorted out.’

Sirius also looks tired, of course. There are dark circles under his eyes, which, Remus thinks, make him look better than ever, if that were possible, because they emphasise the deep grey irises, and his high cheekbones, and his beautiful skin… He realises he’s staring again, and looks away.

Sirius draws up a chair to the side of the bed. He isn’t smiling. ‘Moony. About last night.’

Remus squirms on the bed, exasperated. His friends just can’t understand that he remembers little or nothing about being a wolf; a bit more perhaps than he used to, now they are with him, a glimpse of green, a sniff of the night air in the forest, but nothing more than fragments of what could be memories, nothing more, ever. ‘Padfoot, you know I don’t have a clue about what happens.’

Sirius runs a hand through his hair, which doesn’t rumple or mess it; it falls back exactly into place. ‘Sorry, I always forget. Well, you were really angry. You wouldn’t let any of us near you, and you bit me. It was lucky I was Padfoot.’ He laughs, but shakily. Remus is surprised: he wouldn’t have thought Sirius would worry about being bitten in his Animagus form, or even out of it sometimes. Not Sirius, the complete daredevil, who thinks nothing of balancing on his broomstick on one leg, waving his hands in the air; who survived a fall from mid-air completely unharmed, and was playing again in the next Quidditch match.

‘Oh. Can I see?’ 

Sirius rolls up the sleeves of his robe to reveal a nasty red mark. Remus flinches. ‘Better ask Pomfrey for some lotion for that. It looks infected.’

‘Yeah, I will. But I really wanted to know why. You usually want to play and run around. We usually have fun.’ Sirius looks upset, his bottom lip trembling a bit. Remus wants to put his arms round him and hold him close, and never, ever let go. It’s lucky he’s immobilised by pain, heat and many injuries, he thinks, so at least he won’t make a fool of himself that way.

‘Padfoot. I don’t know. I’m sorry.’

‘’S’okay.’ Sirius turns away for a minute. He then turns back, his face unaccustomedly blank, and says, ‘By the way, we’ve broken up. Kerry and I.’

With a great effort, Remus remembers that Kerry is the Ravenclaw whose name always eludes him. ‘Why?’

‘When you were angry, I thought… Well, never mind now. But I told her this morning that it wasn’t going to work out.’

Remus is so tired he could die and be glad, because he would finally have an eternity of rest. He can’t even be happy at the news; he knows there will certainly be another girl and another and another… ‘But you only ever discussed pranks with her,’ he says. 

‘Not always.’ Sirius looks rather furtive. ‘Sometimes, though…something is right under your nose and you don’t see it.’ 

He seems about to say more, but Madam Pomfrey is on the warpath. ‘Mr Black, you must leave him to rest now. And aren’t you meant to be in lessons?’

Sirius mutely rolls back his sleeve again to show her the wound, and she’s all concern. ‘Goodness me, how did you get that?’

‘Dog bit me.’

Pomfrey bustles off to get potions and lotions, muttering about telling the Headmaster and how did a stray dog get in, mangy cur, thank goodness there’s no rabies in Britain.

Remus is shocked for a minute: in his slightly woozy state it’s only just hit him that Pomfrey could so easily put two and two together. But Sirius must have realised, and Sirius does so love taking risks, gambling with his future, in a way Remus can’t gamble with his. Remus needs to hold on to whatever is safe and familiar, and whatever is Sirius, which are sometimes, if not always, synonymous. 

He dozes off while Pomfrey is applying creams to Sirius’s arm. He thinks she goes away again to berate the wizard in dungarees, and he dreams that Sirius looks round furtively, leans over and kisses him rather clumsily on the forehead, muttering something that sounds like ‘Sweet dreams’, a strange, even alarming thing for Sirius to say. But it is a sweet dream, a very sweet dream. 

**The Fields In Summer**

The day after the day after the moon, and Remus has been released. It’s a Saturday, and the sun is shining. 

There is no Saturday walk, thank goodness. Saturday is devoted to homework, Quidditch practice, choir practice, play rehearsals, activities in which Remus isn’t involved this week. Sirius is supposed to be in Quidditch with James, but has skived off because, he says, he wants to go for a walk. With Moony. He and Moony have to discuss some urgent Divination homework that Moony missed on Thursday. As James and Peter don’t do Divination, they are quite amenable. Remus, who has seen Professor Woodruff about the work to make up, knows he only missed the talk on whether or not students would be doing the NEWT. He’s already signed up for it anyway, and so has Sirius. 

They slip through the hedge to the village, which is out of bounds as it isn’t a Hogsmeade weekend. The woods are green, the cornfields in the distance starting to turn yellow. 

They walk through the fields in the sun. It’s wild round Hogsmeade, uncultivated, and the grass is very long, nearly up to their waists. The fields are full of poppies, the most beautiful and ephemeral of all flowers.

They aren’t discussing Divination. Remus doesn’t actually know what they’re discussing; this and that, really. As always, he tries to store away every word Sirius says so he can take it out and look at it afterwards, but the words are so elusive. Sirius is babbling about the cornfields, of all things. ‘The house-elves make oil out of the corn. It’s magic corn, of course. The harvest never fails. But we don’t get corn on the cob, do we? Ever? Or have we had it after the Sorting, because I completely forgot in that case…’

If Remus didn’t know him better, he would say Sirius was nervous.

‘Here.’ Sirius pulls Remus down, so they are completely hidden in the middle of an overgrown meadow, on the ground that prickles and tickles with hard, dried-up grass. ‘I’m going to say something corny here,’ he giggles. Sirius does love his silly puns.

‘This isn’t a cornfield,’ Remus points out.

‘No, listen, Remus. You have a sort of thing about me, don’t you?’

Remus shrugs, pulls up a few stalks of the dried grass, mumbles, ‘Well, you’ve known that for ages. You had that bloody letter.’

‘Yeah, that letter. I didn’t Incendio it, you know. I kept it. Because…I just thought I wanted to. And we should have talked about it, but I really wasn’t sure. Not till the moon.’

‘You said I was angry. I bit you, for Merlin’s sake!’

‘Yes, but, I hated it. I hated you being angry. I thought it meant maybe you didn’t like me any more. The wolf usually likes me too. And I thought if I minded so much, maybe I feel the way you feel about me. If you still do.’ Again, Sirius sounds hurt and vulnerable. Remus dares put out a hand and place it over his. Sirius doesn’t pull away.

Remus starts to babble then, about McGonagall and Healer Murgatroyd, all the stuff he’s been bottling up for what seems like forever. ‘So you see, Sirius, if there’s anything between us, it has to be a secret. Because I’m supposed to be cured, and I don’t want them sending you to St. Mungo’s as well.’

Sirius, ever the rebel, positively glows at the thought of a secret. He always does like what’s forbidden, Remus remembers fondly. ‘That’s okay. We’ll be careful. Look, Moony. I don’t even know…I like you a lot, but we’ll just take it slowly. See how it works out. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

They scramble to their feet again and set off back to school, as it’s nearly lunchtime, walking through the fields hand in hand. There doesn’t seem to be any need to talk, so neither of them does.

**End**


End file.
